Thy Worthy Ghost Did Pass
by TruthxLiesxMagic
Summary: Oh Erik, please don't be angry with me for asking that of you. Can't you see; I'm trying to help! No don't look at me like that, Erik, I can't bear it." Sequel to O Welcome Death and Fair Lady Mine. EC.


A/N: Like it says in the summary, this is a SEQUEL to O Welcome Death and Fair Lady Mine (in that order). Don't blame me if you haven't read them and can't make sense of this. After this installment, I think another two will serve to wrap it up. Also, despite this being based on the musical, I had to throw in a little of Erik's third-person ranting, because it just seemed to fit so well.

**Thy Worthy Ghost Did Pass**

**OoOoOoOoO**

Escaping from Raoul's company was easier than I expected – he seemed uneasy anyway, after seeing that I had been crying, but I was thankful he had announced his presence at that moment. After all, had Raoul not interrupted, my plan would have been ruined! Erik would have manipulated me into telling him everything, and then he would have stopped me – there would have been no hope of exacting my solution to my dilemma.

At any rate, I told Raoul I felt unwell, lying and saying that my eyes had been watering with the beginnings of a cold, and since the early morning air was nippy, he himself encouraged me to return inside. I felt a slight tinge of guilt about lying to Raoul during our last conversation, but I smothered it with the reasoning that it was all for the best. I had to get back as soon as possible, before Erik worked something out – oh, I had no doubt he would! Thank goodness I had put the letter…

Oh no. No, _no_, _**no**_! Between Erik trying to extract my secret, and Raoul knocking on my door, I had simply dropped his letter on the floor! Oh, Christine, you stupid, _stupid_ girl! It would have aroused his interest even if it had not been for him, even if you had not told him it contained all your fears. Now he has surely read it and…

And what? What will he do? Will he wait for me to descend into his home, and attempt to trap me there, make me his living bride – emphasis on the _living_, presumably – or will he try to stop me before I do anything? A small part of me, the part that resents Erik for lying to me, for pretending to be an angel when he is nothing but a murderer, whispers that perhaps he does not care, perhaps he would be more than happy to be rid of a troublesome girl. But reason forbids me to believe this – I realise Erik loves me. And even in his madness, how could he believe my death could bring him happiness? No, I am sure he will try to stop me somehow. The only question is… how?

I hasten through the all but deserted corridors of the opera house, rushing back to the safety of my dressing room. This could be foolish – there is a gateway there that could allow Erik access into the room in a moment – but it also gives me a reverse ability: to descend.

I am deluding myself, I can see that, but maybe there is a slim chance of going below the opera house and doing what must be done before Erik can interfere? My Angel would mean well, would believe he was doing the right thing… but two rights would make a wrong eventually! I meant what I wrote in his letter – choosing between them would kill me in the end, I love them both but a heart cannot live with two people at once. It simply isn't practical. Ha, I speak of practicality, yet this situation is the furthest thing from practical I have ever heard of! The dilemma is not _practical_, the three of us are not being _practical_, and my solution _certainly_ will not be viewed as _practical_! Still, practicality is as practicality does – I will have to make the best of it.

My feet have guided me to my destination almost without my knowledge – so deep I have been in my thoughts that I have barley registered the corridors I have passed through. My dressing room looks as it always does, and there is nothing to suggest Erik had been inside – except that the letter I dropped is on the floor, opened, the envelope resting beside it. It looks as if it was simply dropped, as if he read it and hurried off to do… something.

I sink into my chair for a moment and bury my face in my hands. Am I doing the right thing? Is suicide really necessary, or am I over-dramatizing things? But no, I pick the letter up and scan through it, hoping to reassert my confidence with my own logic. It works, to an extent, and I recall the frenzy that gripped my thoughts in its powerful embrace last night. Rosaline or Juliet, angel or foolish child, I know what I must do. And I must not shy away from it a moment longer, lest it all be in vain.

My mirror opens easily, and my heart skips a beat when I see Erik behind it, but then the shadows shift and I breathe again. I expected the passage to be the same as before, but the magic seems to have gone from it – cobwebs and dust cover what had been polished, shining candlesticks, and they are still, unmoving, not at all as they were when Erik guided me down here. Even as I retrace my footsteps I can feel his presence beside me, can almost feel his hand in mine, showing me the way as our voices merged with the aid of the music of the night. On that note (dear me, the puns keep coming – imminent death _does_ heighten one's sense of humour) I wonder if Erik will take it upon himself to compose my requiem. But then again, do I deserve one? I have knowingly toyed with two hearts, and am now about to exit life in a mortal sin – suicide. Do I deserve the beautiful requiem Erik could doubtless bring together from the music only he can hear? No. I would like one, but I do not deserve one. Yet the truly heart-wrenching thing is I know he will compose one regardless – will doubtless pour his heart and soul into it.

_Wicked, wicked Christine._

I am but a few minutes – if memory serves correctly – from the lake, when the obvious hits me. Of course. All Erik would have to do to foil my plans would be to have the gondola moored at the other side. After all, the only other way for me to get there would be to swim, and I don't think I could bring myself to descend into the murky water. It seems silly, as my intention is to kill myself anyway, but I fear drowning so much I cannot even begin to contemplate it. The thought of sinking slowly with my lungs gradually filling with water chills me to the core. As I walk on, I become convinced that it will all be for naught, and Erik will have had the simply foresight to move the gondola. Indeed, if he is in his home, then the gondola will almost certainly will at the other side – though I suspect Erik has more than one way of accessing his dwelling.

So it is to my intense surprise that when I reach the lake, the gondola is there waiting. I stare at it stupidly for a moment, wondering if it is a product of my own imagination, but no, as I reach out and touch it, it is real enough. Hardly able to believe my luck, I step in tentatively, the gondola seeming a lot less manageable without the commanding presence of Erik looming above it. How did he direct it again? It was with some sort of pole, wasn't it? I wonder… ah, yes! It's there, in the bottom. I'm not sure if I can do this… no, I _must_ do this! Erik left the gondola here, meaning he must not be in his home! Perhaps it was a good idea to not do this until after the crack of dawn – Erik will probably be prowling around, as he is wont to do, and I will be free to follow through with my plan.

It is almost too perfect. I should have realised that, as I clumsily guided the gondola through the water, but then I have become accustomed to perfection. Not in the way a spoilt child expects to be lavished with gifts – quite the opposite, in fact; I expect perfection at all times because I know perfection is the only true path to greatness. Madame Giry would drive the ballet rats until they were doing the steps perfectly in their sleep. Erik pushed me to master each note of a song before he grudgingly accepted I had done well. I must be the perfect Little Lotte around Raoul, for what would he think if I wasn't?

Yes, perfection was a part of my life, so why should I wonder when the plan I had laid out so meticulously was executed with hardly a hitch? God knows I had spent long enough on it.

_Foolish, foolish Christine._

It is all exactly as I remember – the countless candles, the soft glow that promises safety but conceals danger, the organ stood proudly on the bank… As I approached, it occurred to me that surely the portcullis would be down, but no – my way was clear. Even with my expectations of perfection, this was beginning to strike me as odd. It was most unlike Erik to leave his home unguarded, and though he was not in sight, it did not mean he was not close by. I shy away from that thought, however, unwilling to accept that he was here waiting for me. Like the child that I thought I no longer was, I held onto the tattered remains of a gothic fantasy, dreaming, always dreaming.

_Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing…_

I remember once thinking there could be no fate worse than being trapped in this dark prison for all eternity, and yet now I intend to lay my mortal body to rest here. Stepping ashore, I see a shadow shift, but nervously disregard it, thinking it a product of my own overactive imagination. Heaven knows I am a dreamer! Before Erik, when I lived with Papa, it was not uncommon for him to find my conversing quite happily with imaginary friends. I hardly remember them now – they are but blurs faded by time, but I do recall the burning need to never be alone, even if my companion was simply thin air. So long as it had a voice, if only in my mind, then I would be content.

_And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head; the Angel of Music sings songs in my head…_

I have to find his sword – but where should I begin? The only bedroom I have seen was the one I slept in, so perhaps Erik sleeps there also? It would make sense, then, for him to keep such accessories there, but what if he is in there now, sleeping? The thought makes me freeze for a second and I listen as hard as I can for any sound that may indicate another presence – breathing, the creaking of bed springs, snoring, anything – but there is nothing. I am still not entirely at ease, for I know how easily Erik can stay in one position for a long time without making the slightest sound, but I my nerves lessen their hold on me a very little.

"So it is true."

That voice, so mournful, so defeated… I know from the first syllable that it is Erik. Strangely, I feel no disillusionment at the fact I have been discovered, as I believed I would, only a strange sort of release, as if my journey is over and I can finally rest. I pause where I am, on the first step of the stone stairs, and turn around excruciatingly slowly.

And there he stands. Erik. My angel, my guardian, my friend, my downfall, my love. I should trust my instincts, for it appears he emerged from the very shadow I found curious. Inwardly, I try to curse myself, but it does not work. This… this _relief_ eclipses everything else, and for the first time I wonder if I would have had the strength to thrust the sword into my breast.

"I had hoped you spoke in the grip of weariness, or illness." Erik carries on, making no move to come forwards. "But now I see I was being naïve. You do truly wish to die."

"Erik…" But I do not know what to say, and hand my head. Erik carries on, not heeding me, and I note his sword is at his hip, glinting dangerously in the dim light.

"I told myself that you would not truly come down here with that intention. My Christine would not do that, but even so I waited down here, hoping it would be in vain…" He trails off and fixes his eyes on me, and the anguish in them, pleading for me to say something, do _anything_, to make it all right.

I take hesitant steps forwards – baby steps – until there is only a few feet separating us. Erik watches me carefully, calculating me, perhaps wondering if I mean to throw myself in the lake.

"Erik." I begin again. "I tried to make it so you could understand why I have to do this. I am trying to help, truly, but I hardly know how—"

"Then do nothing!" Erik hisses, anger flaring again. "Leave, with your young man, rather than taunt me with false words. Go! Go now, and leave me."

"No." My voice is quiet but firm. Surprise flares in Erik's eyes and I press my advantage before he gathers himself and reacts properly. "Not until I manage to make you understand. Erik, did you even _read_ the letter? I can't leave you – I just can't, but neither can I abandon Raoul." I can't take his gaze and look out over the lake. "I am trapped. If I go with either of you, leaving the other, it would destroy me – but you both deserve someone, so… So I thought… I thought if I wasn't here, then perhaps… Raoul would not lack company, and his family wouldn't approve of our marriage at any rate, and Erik, even though you can't see it… you could be so much!" I drag my gaze back to my angel, and now it is my turn to plead. "You say you are trapped down here, but though people are cruel, it is you that ultimately made this your prison. You could be so much… I don't belong in either world." I finish with a note of bitterness that didn't have any right to be there. I had accepted this already – there was no point in mourning this fact. I only have time to see a flash of anger in Erik's eyes before he is right before me, his hands digging into my shoulders.

"Never say that." He orders, his voice low and tight. "Never say you there is anything you do not deserve."

I bite back words of argument, knowing they would be useless and would only serve to worsen the already deteriorating situation. So I hold my tongue.

And it is then when an idea comes to me… one so fitting I wonder why I never thought of it before. Just because I might lack the strength to end myself doesn't mean the plan needs to be abandoned completely. Erik could be convinced, I'm sure – he can deny me very little. I take a deep breath and order my words – I have only one chance at this, and it must be done to perfection if it is to have any chance of succeeding.

"Erik, I… I just wish for us all to be free of this, for us all to be at peace." I pause and run my tongue over my lips, which have become dry. "My courage hasn't completely ebbed yet…"

And then I look him in the eyes and ask him with my own. His forehead is creased as he tries to decipher what I mean, and then he does, and he goes white, his eyes reflecting his feelings of mingled disbelief and revulsion. In that moment I know I have gone wrong, but I fail to see how or why. Why can't Erik see this is for the best, that it is the only feasible solution? I can't do the deed myself, but even if I could, _he_ possesses the sword at this moment in time.

"No…" Erik backs away, horrified. "Christine, no, you cannot possibly ask that of me. To… To…" He trials off, shaking his head disbelievingly as if he simply cannot accept the fact I am actually asking him to do this. "_No!_"

I can find nothing to say, and so simply drop my gaze to the ground, aware that Erik is hoping I will tell him he is incorrect in his assumption, that of course I do not ask _that_ of him – but I cannot. I will not lie to him any longer. This seems to anger Erik more than any words of confirmation, or argument. He simply stares at me for a long moment, and I can feel the heat of his gaze burning me.

_Those eyes that burn._

And then it begins. The raging, the anger, the… the _helplessness_. For I am trying to understand my Erik – it seems to be the only service I am able to do him – and I can see now that this strain of anger – the aimless fury – only surfaces when he finds himself in a situation he cannot comprehend. It is my fault, and I know I must do something before he attempts something extreme – though my mind cannot conjure anything at this moment in time, I do not doubt he will find some way of incapacitating my plan. So I do the only thing I seem capable of doing at times like these – I babble.

"Oh Erik, please don't be angry with me for asking that of you. Can't you see; I'm trying to help! No don't look at me like that, Erik, I can't bear it." I add the last part as Erik turns to look at me, and the anguish in his eyes threatens to rip me apart. He truly does not understand.

"_You_ cannot bear it?" He echoes, and the cold note of controlled anger that creeps into his voice frightens me more than any of his tantrums. "_You_ cannot bear this look? Ah, but of course, Christine must suffer; _Christine_ must be the victim, always the _victim_. No care for _Erik_, when he finds out that his love plans to go to his home and kill herself."

"I'm sorry." I murmur, choking on the tears that are now running down my face unheeded. "I'm sorry, Erik, I should have realised what would happen if you read the letter."

"Oh? So you are sorry Erik knows, but not sorry for planning the act itself? Tell me, Christine, you worked your plan out so well, what was the aftermath? What was your young man supposed to think? What was _Erik_ supposed to think when he came back to his home and saw his love spread on the bed Erik hopes she would spend many nights sleeping in… dead?" He changes tack yet again, turning to pleading. "Would Erik be such a bad husband, Christine, that you would prefer to die than be with him? Did Christine lie in her letter, saying she loved him?"

And that is when I truly realise what has hurt him. Not that I came here intending to kill myself, not that I confessed I would always love Raoul… but that I had taunted him with a glimmer of hope, only to snuff it out. Love is no good when it comes from a woman dead.

I walk towards him, and his expression is distrusting, obviously wondering what I intend to do. Cautiously, I reach out a hand and lay it on the exposed half of his face. Erik gives a slight flinch, but does not move away, as I half-expected him to. I want to kiss him, but I fear his reaction.

"Erik… oh, Erik…" I whisper, and then somehow, without knowing how, I am weeping in his arms, clutching him like a drowning woman would grasp a rock, and I could swear I feel his own tears drip into my hair. I cannot keep it up any longer – it is simply too much to bear. I don't care what happens next, I just want to be here for a while, to be with Erik, to love and be loved unconditionally. I still cannot entirely abandon the reasoning that brought me down here, but as Erik strokes my hair, it suddenly seems not very important at all.

"I meant everything." I assure him. "_Everything_."

"Christine, Christine…" He murmurs into my hair. "Why?"

We have reached an impasse. I cannot explain, and Erik, despite his proclamations to the contrary, does not wish to understand. I think I see why – once he does, he fears he will not be able to come up with a reason for me to not end my life, fears that he will have to agree. I dearly wished he would comprehend what I was doing, and why I was doing it, but I should have known better.

_Foolish, foolish Christine…_


End file.
